


Shards of time

by Iblardora



Series: Some nights [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Archaeologist, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Multi, Nerd drama, historystuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:27:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iblardora/pseuds/Iblardora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Egbert finds some strange artifacts in the red clay of Georgia he never imagines his summer internship would turn into a race against time with human lives on the line. Now he's got precious little time to piece together whats going on, and whats happened in the far flung past before he looses the chance to find out forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First light

_The smell of pine and fire washes over you, the cool morning air greets you as you push back the flap that separates the mist of the morning from the darkness of your hut. Goose bumps raise on your arms as your bare feet sink deep into the leaves and clay of your camps floor. It is a fine day, the river that flows past your camp is swollen with warm spring rain, and you can sense the summer coming as a warm breeze floats by._

_Perfect._

_You glance to your friend, sitting by the crackling heat his back turned to you. His tousled hair tells your trained eyes that he has not slept again and the way he sits, curled forward, hands moving, speaks of creation. You move forward letting your hands drop the flap, your mouth curling into a smile as you form his name. He turns to you red eyes barely visible over his cloak, warm in greeting._

_**I Can't Remember Anything** _

_**Can't Tell If this Is True or Dream** _

 

   John groaned as he turned over, blinking blearily at the noisy phone pulling his legs up against his chest. Next to him his tent buddy, Tim, groaned and sat up. Brown eyes looked out from natural bronzed skin, sleepy and half lidded. He looks over john, who lets his eyes flutter shut, hoping the other will just quietly get up, leave, let him sleep a while longer.. He almost wants to try to remember his dream. It seemed nice. There was a fire, and...

 

“Uh Excuse me?”

_Damn..._

 “uh Mr. Egbert?” his voice was hesitant, as if unsure if he wanted to awaken the man, as he reached out to poke john lightly in the shoulder. “You uhm awake yet?”

   “No, I can sleep through Metallica in my ear, only a nuclear warhead can awaken me, go get one of those… or turn off the damned alarm on your own.” John said, a smirk forming on his lips. The moment of pause tells him the other is weighing how much of a joke that is before letting out a nervous chuckle. You hear snaps and tightening from his side of the tent then the shuffling of clothes. 

  Sitting up and grabbing his phone John moves his thumb across the screen with practiced ease, grabbing at the ground where he had placed his glasses last night. Another motion of his thumb and the music stops. He grunts happily into the silence, letting it stretch for a moment.

  “You know dude.” he slides his glasses on letting the other man fall into focus. In the dim light Tim is nervously brushing his Mohawk out of his eyes as he looks for a clean shirt. “If this tent buddy thing is going to work you need to learn to loosen up. By the end of the summer I fully expect us to know each other so well we can sync our farts. Also its John, Mr. Egbert is my dad.”

   Timothy half winces at the euphemism but he can tell his point got through. The other young man stops trying to inspect the clothes in dim light for stains and instead falls back on the sniff test.

  “Yeah sure, give me a few hours to make a timetable though, right now we need to get to breakfast and head to the site .” He stands, grabbing jeans and a hat, and makes his way clumsily outside. It takes a few tries,  once or twice his prostheses catch on the sides of the tent but he gets through. 

  Once John is alone he takes the moment to set up his laptop, lighting the electric lanterns he uses for light and places them at just the right angle. He studies the effect on his camera and brushes his hair around. He then throws on a shirt, and smiles, clicking the start countdown on his laptop. He pauses, letting his face drop into a sort of neutral expression as he waits for the signal, and lets his mind wander back to his dream. A fire, and a house with a flap, and..

*BEEP*

“Hey guys! Heirapparent here!~ Welcome history buffs and fanatics to my first ever vlog. As some of you may or may not know I have been given a rare chance to study with the famous Doctor. No not that doctor you silly whovians, but rather Doctor Phineas Gauge. He is not in my normal area of study, He’s more involved with Neolithic cultures, but his techniques and skills can easily be applied to battlefields. So…"

* * *

 

   The dawn is fully breaking as John steps out of his tent, making a note to head into town and find a Starbucks during lunch break today. Vlogs tend to not need that much editing so hopefully he can just throw it up quick and be done with it. He almost felt lighter for not having to draw graphs and animate charts.  Glancing around the campsites as he moves towards the shower makes him refocus. Work is beginning in earnest for the camp crew that Doctor Gauge has gathered. With precious little time before the heat and humidity of southern Georgia in the summer comes full force they are already loading the trucks, cooking breakfast and making sure that the paperwork they need comes to the site with them .John had gotten lucky, he was on the “off” group for the first week, meaning for the moment he was expected to watch and learn what he needed to be doing in each job but that didn't mean he had time to slack.

 

  Showers were quick and cold and by the time he got back Tim was already at his place at the table, munching on heavily buttered camp toast and staring off into space. He was the cook for the week, having been on expeditions before. Food had already been set out, though the rest of the camp seemed none the wiser. In fact the only other person up and about was Salem, the guy responsible for the equipment. He was moving around the truck bed, pushing , tugging and tightening. His bright orange hunting cap was pulled low over his face to his sunglasses. 

  John slowed studying his tent buddy. He looked tired still, slowly chewing over his large cup of coffee. In fact he was so tired that he didn't notice the squirrel that had hopped up next to him, sniffing at the large creatures food. John stopped wanting to watch this play out, fighting back the urge to squeal.

    The squirrel stood grasping the tablecloth, and sniffed again, then slowly moved up his leg, then the other so he was perched near the elbow. His tail flicked brushing the mans arm who stiffened, the squirrel doing the same. John could see the heart beating out of the damned rodents chest as slowly Tim turned his head, looked confused at john and then looked down. For a moment he took in the squirrel and then with slow, deliberate movements he broke off a piece of his bread. The squirrels head followed his every move, wavering between leaving and the food. Tim lowered the treat, smiling at the creature happily. The squirrel reached out grabbed the piece, paused looking up at Tim and bent down to….

*CRASH*

The moment was broken as Salem dropped something hard on the truck bed.

Tim jumped, slamming his legs into the table, spilling coffee all down his front. The squirrel nearly pirouetted off the fucking table and scampered with his food and John burst out laughing.

“Dude I knew you were going for a Doctorate but Jesus you didn't tell me you had plans to change your last name too!”

Tim, trying to breath now, gave him a “what the” look.

“To what?” he said suspiciously as he flaps his pant legs to try to dry or cool the coffee so he can move without scalding himself.

“Dolittle. Don’t think Mama Torrez would be appreciative. “

“Oh shut up John and watch the food. I will be back. “

Oh progress! John grinned and moved towards the stove.

* * *

 

    By the time Tim was back the camp was bouncing. Everyone was out of their tents, and in various states of readiness and rushing.

  Sally, a well built young woman who eschewed make up, seemed to have forced John out of the position of food watcher. She was currently whipping eggs into a froth as she chattered with Lucy, a thin willowy woman with long braids. They were scouts, or at least that's how Tim thought of them, seeing as they did a lot of the pre- excavation field work, All of the surveys needed, the paperwork to allow people to work with in the area that was set out, and even negotiations with any tribes that might be affected by the dig.

  He settles in to the last remaining seat, half grateful for their work. Politics surround digs sites could be painful, as necessary as they were. It took years to get a spade in dirt. He had never had the patience for it. Tim and his brothers had grown up on the adventure genre, and between his love of Indian Jones and Peter Pan his imagining of such things did not include paperwork. His mother would have had a lot less holes in the yard and fewer heart attacks if it had…

  He pulls his now cold coffee down the table past the others. There were too many he didn't know but he could remember some first names. Steven was a freshman, like John, who had signed up for a first year internship. He was quiet and determined to learn all he could. Daniel was a loud and rambunctious senior archaeology student who was aiming to get into a doctorate program under Doctor Gauge. He had spent last night talking Tim’s ear off about him, so it was fairly obvious that he had a hero complex for the poor man. He sighs wondering if he meant the Doctor or Daniel 

Tim scanned the rest of the people, noting that his camp had a 11 people, though he had suspected at the meet and greet last night 12. Doctor Gauge over saw a lot of people, and with two large dig sites and smaller one picked out he had pulled in everyone he could. It seemed strange that the largest site would be short two hands. He counted again picking up  where he left off on the name recognition thing. 

A young Korean man sat next to him, Tim tried to remember the name from last nights introductions, but failed. He ate slowly, conscientiously. Across from him was a red headed young man with a tan that made his skin clash with the shade of his hair. Again no name came to mind.

Tim should feel bad but he didn't, too many people came one summer each to help out and then never were in contact again. It wasn't always worth remember names. He would have to figure it out though. He couldn't call him “hey you” all year.

Two people down from the Korean man, next to Daniel who was telling his story, was a young woman who was from Greece. He squinted at her then his mind focused on shoes. Her name was spelled like a shoe. It was pronounced differently though. Nike? Yeah that sounded about right. Man he was getting good at this.

He sipped his coffee and frowned. The coffee was too cold, too bitter. He would need more sugar. He whipped out his arm and turned it over onto the ground under the table only to hear a shout. He pulled back and blinked down at what he first recognized as a mop laying next to the table, but then saw the face attached to it. A fine strong jaw line and dark ebony skin with flashing almost black brown eyes.

“Hey, can’t a motherfucker take a god damned nap in peace with out getting coffee all over him?”

The table had gone quiet and Tim searched in his mind for who this strange person was. The man bent and flexed and stood, and he came out from under the table covered in the red clay and dirt of the campsite. He was tall, well over 6 feet, and lanky. His face was not one he recognized despite having been given photos of his workers. He tensed wondering if he would have to escort the strange person out or even if he could 

“Gregory… you would get a better nap if you weren't under our table.”

Gregory? That name hit a spot and then Tim realized why he didn't recognize the man. Normally his face would be smeared with some kind of ritual makeup. He was the Occultist that Doc Gauge had brought in. Well not Occultist, anthropologist, but when one goes native to the point of believing the thing their studying the words didn't mean much.  That and the man gave off the distinct vibe of having sampled to heavily of the "Miracles" of the world.  At the very least it seems Doctor Gauge had gotten him to lay off the make up. 

“Sorry Soo but its just so motherfuck comfortable down there.” Soo right! The full name escaped him but the man had indicated to just call him Soo.

Gregory meanwhile had pulled a chair to the head of the table. Tim eyed him, all interest in the rest of the table lost for this strange young gentleman.

“Sorry man. Didn’t know you were there? “ He said when the other young man said nothing to him. Black brown eyes fixed on his and he gulped. “I- I mean um not that there's anything wrong with you being um under the table...where we eat… very convenient place.. to uh… d-don’t you have a tent? “

“Sure do, but this tiny motherfucker” he jerks his thumb at Soo who was giving no fucks about this conversation “is the mightiest of sleep lumberjacks. I couldn't sleep a wink what with his riding his mighty redwoods down the rivers of sleepland, singing! “

Tim blinked. That metaphor had been stretched so far it was begging for mercy. He held up his hands. “Uh… well okay but know that Doc Gauge doesn’t like nappers at the site. So keep your napping to here at the very least okay?”

“Aye Aye mon motherfucking Captain “ Gregory saluted. For a moment Tim was dismayed at his swearing, wondering if he had insulted him, only to see the smile stretching across his face. Right the guy used swears like someone would use breath.

 “Yes well um.. Sally can I have some more coffee?” He waves his cup at her. Strange as he may be Gregory had given him the perfect transition.

“As um for the rest of you I need your attention. Doc has put me in charge of Camp c…”

“Camp c?” Daniel blinks lightly “That sounds like a really weird off Broadway show… or a kids drink… “

“Yes, I agree.” Steven says lightly, looking down at his notes. “We should call our Camp at the very least Camp Charlie.”

Tim sighs. What in the nine hells? Did it really matter what the camp was called?

“Um well I guess I could talk to the doctor about that, and you guys can come up with a name or something. The point is I am going to be the leader, I will be responsible for you guys and answer directly to the doctor. He’s given us Site C… “ He eyes the others. “To possibly be renamed. It is a Early to Mid Woodlands Period site, looks to be a housing area of some type. Probably Middle considering out location but we can’t be sure until we are working the area. Hopewellian pottery was found here a few years back. Interestingly enough though it was not of the normal style associated with this area, but rather seems to be Vinette II which further suggests Mid woodlands period. “ 

"Yeah but what's interesting about that? Mounds and burial rites often have non area specific burial finery. We might have just found some old rich dudes burial ground or something.” John interrupts. Tim feels his respect for the flighty man go up a notch. At least he had studied before coming here. He knew that John was going into Museum studies, specifically for Battlefield archaeology, but if he kept this up he would make a good digger yet.

“Yes, well done, your um right. “ he said turning to him. “But that isn't likely. First off this area is miles from any know settlement, and while we have found evidence of a permanent shelter here it seems to be only one or two buildings rather than the dozen or so for a village. Also for the amount of possible pottery that has been turned up in pre fieldwork scans the person here would be akin to a high chief or holy person. Finally the item originally found seems to have been made with local clay despite the technique used. ” He shrugs. “I don’t know but Doc Gauge is intrigued, so much so that the old man decided to basically harangue the local tribe to give him permission for like 3 years.”

He accepts coffee from Sally who smiles and turns back to the meal. She knew better than him what the doc had for this place. He really wished he could let her take this role but it had been agreed he needed to work on it so when she left the head research assistant didn't need an interpreter for every speech he made.

“Speaking of we are working with them, which puts us on a time limit. We have agree to give them all pottery, Artifacts and any bones disturbed by this dig. That means that we have to find, photograph, bag and analyze all items as we go. We have until mid November with this site and that's it. So don’t sack off, its not going to help and there's no way to make up for it. We will also treat all bodies found with the utmost respect possible. I don’t want to hear about anything happening to them that you wouldn't do to your grandmas bones. Remember we may want knowledge but that doesn't mean we go shitting on the culture we study. “ He eyes everyone. Daniel was his biggest worry, he had joked last night about taking skulls home for shock value. If this was to work he needed to treat the culture with a hell of a lot more sensitivity.

They all nodded and he relaxed. He hated sounding so tough, but it was that or ramble and hem and haw. “Good.. then go get ready, we have twenty minutes before we have to be on the road. Any questions?”

“Hey is there a good place to go connect to the internet?” 


	2. Journy's end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt doesn't know why but he feels like the summers going to be a long one.

“I will be there until Mid-November. I am not going to be putting up any more analysis of the battles of the Civil War until then, but I will be vlogging at least a few times a week. So see you then Heirants! “

The voice cut off and a sigh echos through the living room. “Damn I was hoping that wasn't going to happen.”    
  
“Kurt you knew damned well he couldn't do an internship and his analysis at the same time “ his roommate replied sinking lower into the futon pillows she had stacked around her . “Kids good with strategy and history don’t get me wrong but he couldn't walk and chew bubble gum at the same time.” She turns the page in her book, eyeing the latest occult pseudoscience article.  Vrinda tucks her fingers under the page and tilts her head just right so that the light in the room catches her straight black hair and her eyes can lock on him.  White teeth flash against dark lips showing she is half joking. He glances away at his clock, then clicks off his favorite channel. 

“At least he doesn't believe that aliens could have built the pyramids.”  Kurt snorts and stands grabbing his work briefcase. Even as the words slammed from his mouth  he head winces slightly, That had come out harsher than it was meant to sound.

  
A glance towards his roommate, eyes now more or less locked on the middle of the page, face tight, did not help. Damn they were already in the “not needing more drama” phase of their ever fluctuating relationship. He runs his hands through his short red hair, trying to figure out what to say next.  He hated when they fought. I may start about one thing but it just kept happening.

It was his fault this time, and he was lucky she hadn't broken the lease after he had squished her damned tarantula two weeks ago when the the thing jumped into his shower. Luck and a few strings had replaced the fuzzy little bastard but she insisted they just weren't the same. He honestly couldn't tell the difference between them but.. .

“OK calm your tits Kurtcake, I was giving your not so secret crush a compliment.” She turns the page and for once Kurt is glad his roommate knows him. She wasn't serious and the Nicknames were their way of showing it. Assurance that  she knew his barbs rarely meant anything and could play his games. He smiles at her warmly. He was lucky…

“Also for someone who constantly bombards him with how he's not right EVER you seem pretty quick to defend him.”    
  
Well there goes those god damned warm and fuzzies. At the very least she wasn't going to push him for an apology. The joking showed all was forgiven.

“There is a difference between knowing the kid is wrong and telling him and insulting his intelligence. He does his research and if he stuck to the facts in his theories I wouldn't have to correct him all the damned time.” Kurt moved out of the living room to the coat area raising his voice so he can continue. “It’s like he knows them but his mind can’t keep all the facts still long enough to draw the right conclusions. I want to train that into him, and if I have to trash all the overly romanticized ideas he holds to do it I will”   

“You can call it what you will, but I think that  you have the biggest crush on the kid. You pine for the Heir, to have him whisper sweet nothings about battles and broken ribs, caved in skulls and camp diseases. “ He sighs and slings his coat on his back.

“Yes because my job is my only turn on.” He blurts and then stops as she howls with laughter. Rubbing his face he moves to the kitchen. “IS a turn on! And what are my fetishes to you Mrs. Aliens and tentacles? “  He had stumbled in on her Hen-a-ti or what ever enough times to know she was a pot to his kettle.

“Its the only thing interesting about your life. I would also like to point out that you have refuted everything I have said except one thing, which is interesting. “ 

“And what is that?” he walks back into the living room, grabbing his iPod and ear-buds. Today was a good day for a walk, he thought, his mind already way past this debate, and he had enough time. If he cut through..

“You haven’t denied that you are crushing on him. “

Oh god. She was going into her Psychology minor voice again. Dear heavenly Jesus take the fucking wheel. He was done, all sorts of done. Drop the mic, walk off stage, done.  If he took the bait she would never let him leave. Abort abort, danger Kurt O’Rinn. Change topic now.

“Could you feed Crab Fury? I need to glaze my thesis pot,  get to the lab by six and I will be honest I don’t know if I will be back tonight. The boss is coming by to see what we have on that young child found on a dig site. Hes not going to like the results either. Kid was bludgeoned from  behind. Clean snap of the neck. He claims the snap happened after, and theorizes the wound is old. Possibly a former attack.”  He shakes his head. “Dude is never going to give it up that there were two attacks here. Its his pet theory, but no evidence will back him up. There's no calcification, nothing to show it was healing prior to the neck snappage but there you go. “

“You have the weiiiiiiiirdest job.” she droned out but the tone read that she was dropping the other line of thinking for this more morbid one. “ Don’t you ever just get depressed ? You study how people die, but not like cold cases, no because that would be cool. You study how people who no one today cares about got sick and died. You're not even bringing justice to the people like your little blind friend.”

“Theresa is not blind she just can’t drive with her eyesight.” The correction was automatic. “ Also for your information I can give a lot of justice to others through my work. Who killed this kid and why? Was it a ritual? or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? How old was he? Was he a slave? I get to tell this kids story and...”

Vrinda was miming sleep, with huge fake snores. Fuck, this is what he gets for having a business major live with him. No fucking respect. He frowns and she opens her eyes and laughs.

“Lighten up Kurple.” she whips out their nickname as a peace offering. “I am just messing with you, I know you love your job and why. I have heard that thesis a million times. It doesn't make it any less weird. You make up stories about bones, admittedly based on evidence but still. “ She shrugs.

“Also to answer your question;  sure, your emergency dinner will be safe with me. I will fatten his little inappropriately named ass right up for you.”

He chuckles. “Thanks. Later. “

The streets of Windsor are busy as he steps out the front door of his apartment complex. In go the ear buds, a quick check to see that its around 2 and a hum. He turns heading up towards the University. It was really only a five minute walk to the college, which was allowing him to use their kiln, and then a 20 minute ride to the university he was a bit early.  Still considering the notes he will have to take on the clay he had molded and how the  modern kiln process had  altered the pot from his home made period accurate kiln plus the glazing process and a quick dinner, he probably was right on time.  
  
Scrolling through his playlist he sets off, strides taking him the now familiar route. He settles on his normal walking list. He pauses though as the world pulses around him.

He glances up and swears.   
  
The world around him is fracturing, shifting and growing. Now that he isn't focused on his iPod he can see the world breaking around him. Movements in his side visions bring a prickle to his neck and he grabs at the bag at his side. He felt his arm grow distant and he stumbles back slamming against the brick of the nearest building.

He pushes himself against the buil- no he could feel the bark. It was a tree. He wobbles a little and then draws a deep breath. This wasn't real,  this couldn't be real.

Trees stretched above him, in front of him stretched a field that sloped down towards a lake. Frozen he waits.

_Among the grass below him, that blends so perfectly into the waters as to create the illusion of there being no shore line, a canoe is finding its way towards shore. Despite himself he feels a swell of happiness blossoming in his chest. He can see the figure, black hair, tan skin even from all the way out here. The man stands and waves and he can almost imagine the goofy grin stretching across a fact that he both suddenly knows and has always known._   
  
_He can also see the movement in the trees just to the side of the lake, a rustling in the tree tops , the odd shape of an arrow shaft. He freezes, and the vision almost seems to stop, allowing him just enough time to follow the arrows projected path. Kurt draws in a deep breath moving forward out of the trees with a shout that does not reach his own ears._   
  
_The arrow lets loose and he feels something slam into him, mirroring the arrow sinking into the flesh of the man. Wide eyes lock with him and then Kurt knows  no more._

**Author's Note:**

> Oh lord look at all that jargon. 
> 
> Okay folks going to admit here and now I am not trained as an archaeologist. I took one class in college and worked mildly at a dig site for a week in my home town. I know this probably isn't how the site runs but bear with me. I also will be happy to include links to Wikipedia for some of the more important Academic points but its not completely necessary to read these 
> 
> Links:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woodland_period  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swift_Creek_culture


End file.
